


How Come ...

by Luka



Series: University AU [7]
Category: Primeval
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, F/F, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-02 14:37:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19200889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luka/pseuds/Luka
Summary: An afternoon watching Becker and Stephen posing on the rugby field isn't Sarah's idea of fun.





	How Come ...

**Author's Note:**

> Long ago and far away, Rain_sleet_snow created a university AU in Primeval fanfic where Lester is deputy vice-chancellor, Ryan the head of security, Lorraine an economics lecturer and Sarah an Egyptology PhD candidate. I jumped into her sandpit, and a load of stories followed. Our stories are in the same universe, but we've kind of developed our own plot (in that there is much plot) lines! This fic is the seventh I created in the AU universe - there are more stories to follow. If you want to read Rain_sleet_snow's stories, she has them on her AO3 account under the Smart People series tag. To avoid confusion, I'm going to name my series as University AU. Original, or what! The stories are gen ones in a slash universe.
> 
> The story was originally written for an art challenge on the LJ Primeval Denial comm. The picture I had was drawn by Rain_sleet_snow and showed Ryan in a hoodie and jeans, and Sarah in a purple raincoat under an umbrella.
> 
> Thanks to Fredbassett for the loan of three of her OCs - Blade (Niall), Ditzy (Dave) and Kermit (Darren).

Sarah tutted loudly as the soggy grass enveloped her shoe, sending a splodge of water up her trouser leg. "Lorraine had better run hard and far next time she fancies watching a rugby match, or I shall kneecap her with a rusty teaspoon."

But her words lacked bite. Her partner, a qualified first aider, was tending to Niall Richards, who'd received a blow to the head in a scrum. He seemed embarrassed by the attention, and Sarah wasn't in the least surprised to see him get up and trot off in the direction of play.

Tom Ryan raised an eyebrow and she knew this was as demonstrative as he ever got. Even a spectacular solo try by the dreamy Stephen Hart had only elicited a "lad's got speed" from him. And he'd managed to keep a straight face as Lorraine – clued in on the game thanks to a rugby-loving girlfriend when she was at Cambridge – had demonstrated the patience of a saint as she'd explained the laws of rugby to mad Professor Cutter.

Sarah sighed quietly. Lorraine's well-developed sense of loyalty and fair play had decreed that they should spend their Saturday afternoon watching the CMU staff rugby team play their sworn rivals – University of the North Side. Ever since kick-off, though, the rain had been relentless and the wind biting. And when Ryan had observed that the next row of mountains was the Urals, she didn't think he was joking.

Dave Owen, buoyed by the success of the cricket team, had somehow managed to assemble 15 players who were relatively sane of body and mind. But Ryan, who'd been due to captain the team, was sidelined after wrenching his shoulder in a skiing mishap. And from the way he was pacing the touchline, muttering darkly, he wasn't a good spectator.

Sarah huddled into her frankly inadequate raincoat, and battled with her brolly as a gust of wind turned it inside out. She'd assumed it would be like the staff cricket match during the summer when they'd lounged in deckchairs sipping Pimms and eating a delicious tea. Of course she hadn't been expecting deckchairs and Pimms at a rugby match, but she'd hoped for a toasty warm clubhouse and hot chocolate at the very least.

Ryan muttered something under his breath about those two needing to stop posing and get stuck in. Sarah looked up to see Stephen and Hilary Becker casting pointed looks at each other. It turned out that Hilary had missed a tackle and allowed the other side's scrum-half, a snippy little historian who had already crossed swords with Niall, to score a try.

Sarah shook her head and tried to hide a smile. She was never quite sure how aware Stephen and Hilary were of the testosterone overload when they were in close proximity, and how they instinctively seemed to try to outdo each other.

"I wouldn't put Becker on the wing," muttered Ryan. "Bugger should be at blindside flanker where it won't matter that he's not that fast, but he can tackle to his heart's content."

Sarah nodded sagely. It was all a foreign language to her. 

"Niall, cut that out!" bawled Ryan, causing Sarah to jump about a foot in the air.

"What's he done?" she asked, staring through the murk to where there was a pile-up of bodies with the ref – a mathematician who was apparently a regional-standard official – standing over them and blowing a fusillade on his whistle.

"Bloody idiot's stamped on someone's head."

"Isn't that what everyone's been doing?" Sarah was thoroughly confused by how rugby was played. It seemed to be legalised violence.

Ryan gave her a look and stamped down the touchline as the referee blew a long blast on his whistle for half-time. He pointed to Niall and beckoned. The engineer, a mutinous look on his face, trailed over.

"You bloody fool! You were lucky he didn't send you off!"

"He's given me ten minutes in the fucking sin bin …"

"Serves you right. Now hand them over. You need your fucking head examined."

"Dunno what you're talking about …"

"Hand. It. Over."

Niall scowled and bent down, pulling a small object from under the tongue of his boot. He thrust it unceremoniously at Ryan.

"And the next."

"Dunno what …"

"And. The. Next."

Niall fumbled around with the strapping on his right thigh and shoved an item at Ryan. He turned to walk off, but Ryan snapped: "And the other one."

Niall shot him a venomous look. His hand moved so fast that Sarah couldn't see what he'd produced from where, although it appeared to be in the region of his groin. Ryan's "I don't even want to know where you were hiding that" suggested that ignorance probably was bliss in this case.

Ryan sighed and pushed the mystery items into his jeans pocket as Niall mooched off, looking like the cares of the world were on his broad shoulders.

"Hi, Sarah. Not lost Lorraine, have you?"

Sarah glared at the owner of the smug voice and pointedly turned her back. If she had one slap left, that girl would get it, no contest. She realised Ryan was staring at her, clearly surprised by her rudeness.

"Who was that?" he asked, as they watched the elegant figure picking her way across the muddy field in highly unsuitable shoes, clinging on to the arm of one of the military nurses. She appeared to be going through them like a dose of salts.

"Caroline Steel. One of Lorraine's PhD students. Nasty bit of work."

"What's she been up to?" asked Ryan, half an eye on where Niall and Dave Owen were clearly having a difference of opinion.

Sarah shrugged. "And there you have it. She's snide and crafty. There's never anything you can quite call her on."

"Has Lorraine talked to her line manager about it?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Schmoozy Simon? Waste of time. The arsehole thinks he's too good for CMU and spends his time looking for a job at a redbrick university."

"How long's he been here?"

"Fifteen years. Which tells you all you need to know. Never trust a man in red braces and striped shirts. Thinks he's in the sodding stock exchange."

"I'll bear your advice in mind," said Ryan dryly. "Hello, James, you've made good time."

"The meeting finished early. Good afternoon, Miss Page."

Had Lorraine been there, she would have mimed opening her mouth and inserting her foot. Sarah essayed a weak smile and attempted to greet James Lester. His trademark braces were clearly resting for the weekend, but he wore an open-necked striped shirt beneath a sweater that Sarah would bet a month's grant money was cashmere.

Sarah wondered if it would be ill manners to sneak off. She liked Ryan, but felt uneasy with Lester and suspected he always found her wanting, with her ability to leave a trail of chaos everywhere she went. She knew Lorraine got on well with him, and she seemed to be Lester's default choice when someone was needed to sit on a committee and knock heads together.

Sarah looked around for Lorraine, and saw her partner jogging towards her. She was glowing and healthy, despite the rain and mud. And not far behind her were Claudia and Jenny, sensibly dressed in boots and waterproof jackets. Bringing up the rear, intoning what sounded like a rollcall of Scottish football teams, all containing a lot of rrrrrrrrrrs, was mad Professor Cutter.

"It's a good game, isn't it?" said Lorraine.

"Possibly," said Sarah cagily. "Who's winning?"

Lorraine frowned. "They are. But there's only three points in it."

"Oh. Good," said Sarah vaguely. She wished she'd had the presence of mind to bring a hipflask. A nip or two of Matt Anderson's sloe gin wouldn't go amiss.

Jenny, as if reading her mind, reached into the capacious pocket of her jacket and passed Sarah a small silver flask. Sarah took a careful mouthful and shivered at the welcome burn of the brandy – the best French brand, no doubt.

Ryan was laying down the law in no uncertain manner to the bedraggled CMU team. Niall was standing to one side, arms folded, and looking like a black thundercloud was hovering above his head.

Jenny smiled fondly. "Niall does take these things so seriously."

But Claudia was frowning into the distance. "Isn't that Helen Cutter on the far touchline?"

Mad Professor Cutter growled under his breath, and only Claudia tucking her arm firmly into his stopped him from barrelling off to investigate. Jenny frowned and started stabbing a message into her mobile phone. Fortunately, a loud blast on the referee's whistle signalled the start of the second half.

Sarah found she was keeping half an eye on the match and half an eye on Helen Cutter, who was muffled up against the cold in a calf-length coat that looked like it had cost more than the whole of Sarah's wardrobe. The wretched woman was applauding enthusiastically every time North Side touched the ball. And she seemed to be basking in the glares she was eliciting from the far touchline.

Suddenly a huge shout went up and Sarah dragged her glance back to the pitch where a muddy Becker was charging for the line, leaving opposition players sprawling in his wake. Judging by the jumping up and down from those around her, she assumed he'd scored. And there was a second cheer as cute little Darren Cooper then kicked the ball between the posts.

"Professor, professor!"

They looked over to where Connor Temple, a candidate for space cadet student of the year, was running towards Cutter, brandishing something in his hand. 

"Stupid boy!" said Cutter, sounding like he was channelling at least two Dad's Army characters.

Connor, seemingly oblivious to the fact there was a rugby match going on, performed a surprisingly neat sidestep to avoid a posse of North Side fans. But then his feet went from under him on the muddy grass and he slid spectacularly, taking Helen Cutter down with a tackle that would have graced the Manchester United back four. Together they formed an undignified tangle on the pitch.

The players, bemused by the sudden intruders, all piled in and it became a free for all. Ryan, bawling from the touchline, had gone red in the face and lost his customary cool. Sarah picked out some epithets you wouldn't use in the company of your maiden aunt. The long-suffering referee was whistling a symphony, to no useful effect.

Connor, meanwhile, crawled out from the mass of bodies, retrieved his battered trilby and set it on his head again with great ceremony.

"Professor, I've found this newspaper article I thought you'd be interested in."

Cutter's response verged on both the undecipherable and the unrepeatable. Ryan, meanwhile, had marched onto the pitch and was helping Lorraine, the referee and some burly military nurses separate the grappling rugby players. A flash of an expensive boot suggested that Helen Cutter was still trapped at the bottom of the melee. Claudia and Jenny, meanwhile, were holding each other up, tears running down their faces.

Sarah frowned. "So who won?" she asked plaintively.


End file.
